


Starry Night

by ApurricatingCat



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: ??? - Freeform, M/M, Sexual Tension, enjoltaireweek2016, exrweek2016, paint, so much paint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApurricatingCat/pseuds/ApurricatingCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire locks himself away for way too long working on an art project.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starry Night

**Author's Note:**

> Dunno how many chapters this will have, but they will come. Sometime.  
> Trigger warning for drug use, undetailed but there (marijuana and adderall) that's probably the only thing that needs a warning on it in this chapter?  
> It's unbetaed, I apologize for any typos.

Grantaire paints all of the time. Usually, it’s just a mess of colors on the canvas, a way of venting his emotions. It’s rare for him to actually have a project in mind. Rarer still for him to actually work on the project for more than a few days, maybe a week, maybe even two if he’s especially lucky. He couldn’t be sure if a project had ever even been completed as he had originally planned it to be. Certainly one had not been on the scale he was now planning.  


Pages and pages were torn from his sketch book and pinned to the walls of his bedroom, writing and sarcastic notes to himself scrawled around sketchy pictures. Really just scribbles, but he would allow them the title of sketches. More than half the pages were loose thumbnails of famous art pieces, ones with a lot of curve that he could meld to a body, the remaining ones were attempts at melding said pieces to a body- his friends, specifically in mind. He played off their body types, their hair. Starry Night, The Persistence of Memory, Nimphee, were recurring with several other paintings throughout, the basic idea and style in pencil and the curve lines of where he could have people pressed together drawn in sharpie. As he worked he came up with more ideas and it was the first time he had felt so inspired by something that wasn’t the leader in red. He felt high on it. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had been able to work without Enjolras slipping into his paintings or inspiring them completely. He hardly knew what to do with it. 

So he worked tirelessly. He pounded through coffee, wandering out of his apartment only to get a new cup from the café down the street, usually returning with the cup he was drinking and two more for later. Enjolras would have been appalled at how wasteful it was under the guise of being worried for Grantaire’s health, he was fairly certain. He couldn’t think of that now though, he had too much to do as it was. He filled his sketchbook in its entirety and had to get a new one. He wasn’t sure he had ever drawn so much in so little time in his entire life. He supposed that perhaps this is what staying up for days at a time on spiked coffee and Adderall with random hits of weed could do. He almost wondered why Adderall wasn’t something he had abused in high school. Though, perhaps it was for the best that he hadn’t. He felt like he never needed to sleep again. Like he could work and never tire of what he was doing. This was, like many things, not the case. He was aware of that, but while he could, he would take as much advantage of it as possible. 

A good week and a half as well as two meetings (missed) at the Musain had passed by the time he had pushed himself too far. He hadn’t eaten more than crackers and whatever the barista at the coffee shop had been able to convince him into getting. He was on a roll. There was too much to do and he couldn’t stop. He had ignored his friends for the better part of it, only replying with a “no thank you” when he was invited out. Coffee cups and empty bottles of brandy were scattered across his bedroom, the place stinking of weed, cigarettes and incense, in an attempt to cover up the stench. He really shouldn’t have been surprised when Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel showed up, but he was. This probably said quite a bit about the state he was in. 

Bahorel had to wrestle him into the bathroom to take a shower. However, once he was there with the hot water pounding against his sticky skin, he felt like crying in relief was probably the only correct response to being bullied into taking a shower. He stayed under the spray until the water threatened to run cold. When he emerged it seemed that everyone was there in various states of cleaning or cooking. Well, not everyone. Enjolras, he quickly noted, was absent. Feuilly as well, which was explainable. He felt incredibly embarrassed and held the towel tighter around his waist, tugging it up a little to try and cover his stomach, the stretch marks and scars that were pale and noticeable against his dark skin. 

The moment that Courfeyrac saw him he was enveloped in a hug of bouncing excitement. “I haven’t seen you in years Grantaire!” he cried. “Don’t do that! What would I do without you?” before Grantaire could respond Courf had moved on to new questions. “I was getting your laundry and I saw all of the drawings on the walls! What is that? It’s so cool!” he rambled, pulling away so he could speak with his hands, making ridiculous gestures to explain his story. It was such a natural thing for him to do.

“It’s what I-” Grantaire’s voice broke and cleared his throat, “It’s what I have been working on.” He said, voice rough from too many cigarettes and too little conversation. “I’m almost ready to make it a real thing, if you all are willing.” He looked away and glanced around, most everyone was paying attention. He was so embarrassed. “I think I smell food? I will get dressed and tell you guys about it while we eat…?” And so he did.

\---

The project started after he got three days of proper sleep and food. Joly’s conditions. He had ten pieces planned out. He told them all what pieces they would be in and they set up a schedule for when they would go over to his apartment for it. It spread across six weeks as he felt over-zealous some weeks and people were able to rearrange their schedules a bit to come over. He only had to redo two of the shoots which was incredibly lucky. Finally, they arrived at the last one, something Grantaire had been putting off for a reason. It required everyone. This included Enjolras.

Enjolras had not once been invited to join in on these sessions, something that hadn’t managed to escape his notice. It stung. It stung seeing his friends stained in paint and hearing about the things Grantaire was working on. Everyone seemed to be involved except for him. He tried to convince himself, mostly, that he wasn’t jealous. He knew what the aching, roiling mess in his stomach meant the second time his friends came into The Musain stained with paint. He tried to ignore it but every single time people wandered in with paint stuck in their hair, in the creases of their skin, he felt that twinge. He felt so stupid. It wasn’t like he and Grantaire were friends. They fought and that’s about where it ended. Sure, Enjolras felt quite a bit more- so maybe that’s why he was never invited? Maybe he was too obvious and Grantaire had noticed. He shouldn’t have… expected? …hoped? That he would be included. It was stupid. There was no reason for him to be. On the days he saw paint Enjolras usually left early, feeling sick and grumpy. 

A week after Grantaire had finished painting number nine he gave in and made his request. At the meeting, once Enjolras had finished his rambling, Grantaire stood up and cleared his throat. Attention quickly turned to him. He flushed, embarrassed and overwhelmed by this kind of attention, “So… as most of you know, I have been working on a project and it’s nearly finished. I am on the last piece and I was hoping that you could all come over to my apartment this weekend so I can paint you up and finish. Since it will require all of you it’s… going to be an all-day sort of event. I will provide snacks that you can eat before I paint your faces, and then afterwards you can all come back and I will provide dinner.” He said it all quickly avoiding looking at Enjolras. He didn’t want to see the irritation, hear the snap of ‘stop wasting your life, this is stupid.’ He wasn’t even sure he was ready to have Enjolras sitting in front of him naked, trailing his paints across Enjolras’ skin- he was thinking too much now, blush growing. When he came back to himself everyone was checking their calendars or agreeing to come. Grantaire huffed with sigh of relief and glanced at Enjolras. He tried to ignore the look on his face. It was strange, unfamiliar. He didn’t want to think about what that meant so he filed it as a look of disdain. He saw that look a lot, and this wasn’t it, but what else could it be? Hearing about his stupid art project. No, it couldn’t have been anything else.

He spent the week checking and rechecking that his sketches and reference images were good enough. Forcing himself to keep Enjolras in the middle. That’s where he belonged even if it would require more paint, more attention to detail. Grantaire could do this. It would be fine. He wondered if putting Enjolras there somehow counted as self-sabotage. Yes. It probably did.  
The day finally rolled around and he went through the rules with everyone. No using the restroom or touching anything once your paint was done. He would do faces to elbow first and then the rest once everyone else was done to save some of the pain of waiting for years to use the bathroom. They could drink through straws but no seating. Everyone except for Enjolras would be turned to the side in the photos. They would all be turned towards him in various positions of kneeling. He would be facing forward with his head tilted up to the sky. Grantaire was incredibly excited about it. This piece was more of his own than the others. It had elements of each of the pieces that he had created, crawling across his friends, blending into the next, until it became a piece all his own around Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, who made up the center of the piece. 

Panic roiled in his stomach as he explained the piece, worried that Enjolras would think that it was stupid. He chanced a glance at Enjolras once he finished explaining, everyone else chattering with excitement about it. Enjolras was looking back with the same strange look on his face. Grantaire was closer this time, could tell much more clearly that it wasn’t disdain. It was almost wistful? Maybe some of what he saw was awe? Grantaire was pretty sure he was thinking too much. Maybe some of the alcohol from last night was still in his system. He ignored the look and got to work on the painting. 

He did Enjolras last, wary of being near him. To his surprise, Enjolras had stripped down sometime between looking over at him and finishing the last details on Courfeyrac’s cheek, down to his boxers. He was regarding Grantaire with the same look, perhaps it was hurt? Grantaire showed him the sketch of what he was going to be painting on his skin. To his surprise Enjolras completely lit up at the idea, getting fired up in a way he did when he spoke about different political matters that mattered a great amount to him. He kept giving Grantaire a look. It felt like it held a question in it and Grantaire couldn’t decipher what the question was. It made Grantaire feel a little nervous, maybe confused. With his consent, Grantaire began painting Enjolras’s chest. Enjolras gasped and goosebumps broke out across his skin. Grantaire smiled, amused and apologized for the cold. Enjolras made a noise rather than actually responding, and that was interesting, but he didn’t delve, just glanced up at him, hoping his expression asked the question for him. Enjolras wasn’t looking at him though. He continued painting down his chest, onto his stomach, his shoulders, and finally up his neck and onto his face.

Enjolras’ looked like he was concentrating on something really hard, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed. Grantaire wondered what he was thinking about but didn’t ask. He opted for the obnoxious route and poke Enjolras in between the eyebrows. “Stop scowling. Make your face go blank.”

Enjolras blinked a few times, until his eyes focused on Grantaire. His cheeks reddened just slightly. Grantaire wondered why. “Sorry” Enjolras said after a few seconds of silent staring. It took a few seconds but eventually Enjolras was able to make his face go slack, his breathing measured as he forced himself to relax. The movement went through his whole body. 

Grantaire had hardly realized how stiff Enjolras had been while he painted, but it was clear now. He swallowed, had Enjolras been that uncomfortable? He fiddled with his paintbrush for a few moments, hesitant, before finally giving in and getting to work on painting his face and hair. He wrapped the curls around his fingers the way he wanted them to dry and painted over them, paint staining his hands, letting them dry against his skin before slipping his fingers from them. This close to his mouth it was hard to ignore the way that Enjolras’s breath would hitch with some of the tugs on his hair or with the way the brush moved against his skin. Some of the shakier breaths were nearly whines as he trailed the brush softly over his lips, eyelids. When Grantaire told him the paint was dry and he could open his eyes his pupils were blown and he looked almost desperate when his eyes met Grantaire’s. Grantaire wished he could say he was a better man and wouldn’t think about that look and the near moans and whines that Enjolras had made from the paintbrush touching his more sensitive skin, but he wasn’t. It was all going to haunt him in bed, make him feel feverish as he trailed his hands down his body-

They stared at each other for a few moments. Enjolras seemed to be struggling to breathe, gasping softly and looking less cool and collected than Grantaire had ever seen him before. Ignore it. Grantaire finally broke eye contact and moved on to finish painting everyone else.

Eventually the cycle returned him to Enjolras, it had to no matter how unwilling he was to return. He steadied himself before he went to him, making the conscious decision as he went not to choose alcohol. He could do this. He downed a glass of water before heading to Enjolras. "Your turn again." 

Enjolras made a noise and hesitated before dropping his boxers to the floor. Grantaire dug his nails into his hand to steel himself before falling to his knees to get to work painting up his legs and thighs and he wasn't even dizzy and wasn't even thinking about doing anything more. Okay, wasn’t thinking about it too much, anyway. He painted between Enjolras’s legs last. The noises Enjolras was trying to smother were music. He was so attractive, and his stomach would contract sometimes, his hips twitching all interested when Grantaire moved the brush at all which was unexpected but. Probably just an effect of being touched. Ignore it. Grantaire kept glancing up at Enjolras who was obviously trying very hard to look everywhere and anywhere else, his hands clenched into fists.

Grantaire finished and pulled away after what felt like hours, running his fingers through his hair, pretty sure he made up the way Enjolras followed the movement. 12% sure, at least. But, oh god, he would probably jack off to this forever. It was horrible and he felt a twinge of guilt about the matter. He knew it would happen, though, he wouldn’t lie to himself so blatantly. He would be drunk, most likely. His mind wandering here on its own. He forced the thoughts away and back to the project at hand. 

He carefully placed Enjolras first and built on everyone else, meticulously placing hands. Ferre and Courf were on either side of him, crouched so that their faces lined up just below his shoulders on either side, their hands, pressed near his neck, finger tips nearly touching. His hands were high on their necks, a few of his fingers pressed through their hair. The position was horribly uncomfortable, but it didn’t matter. They could get over it. He slowly attached the rest on in a similar way, hands resting on necks, hips, arms entwined, the colors and movement of it all flowing together how he had planned. Grantaire could have cried. He adjusted some of the angles of heads and elbows until it was perfect. The way they were all pressed together was almost erotic. He flicked on the light boxes, adjusted the angles on them- and it was finally okay. He grabbed his Polaroid first and snapped several close-ups so whoever wanted a photo of themselves could have one, and then came the actual pictures. He was as meticulous with this as he had been with everything else, but people mostly remained quiet, only a few complaints or grumbles about being sore. He tried to be fast, but it still took quite a while for him to finish, flip through the photos to make sure they were acceptable, take some for the ones that weren’t, and then some more, just to be safe. He didn’t want to redo this one. Once he was satisfied they broke apart groaning and rolling their shoulders, trying to get some blood flow back into their bodies. 

“You guys can scrub the paint off into my shower and I can have dinner ready in a little over an hour.” Grantaire said, distracted by the camera. Selfies came next, and the group started filtering out to use his shower and then go home to take real showers, the risk of clogging their drains gone with most of the paint. Enjolras waited until everyone was gone, still hanging around a little awkwardly until the shower was free. Grantaire was definitely not hyper aware of it as he prepared dinner. 

Enjolras took a real shower. He used Grantaire’s soaps and scrubbed himself clean of paint- some of his skin was still stained with color(which pleased him), and his hair hated him so much as he tried to massage the paint out of it under the hot water. Finally satisfied, or prepared. Both. He grabbed one of the towels Grantaire had left for them to use and dried off quickly and dressed, draping the towel around his shoulders. He looked at his reflection and counted, breathing in time. He hesitantly wandered out to the kitchen and tried to not be obvious as he watched Grantaire work. Grantaire pretended not to notice. He finally walked into the kitchen, his eyes lowered, and his hands twisting together. He took a deep breath and said in a rush, "Why am I not in any of your other pieces?" 

Of course he got straight to the point—that was Enjolras, after all. Grantaire groaned internally, of course he noticed. He turned and gave Enjolras a teasing grin, "I was sure that The Great Leader had no time for such things." He said easily, heart pounding only a little. Everyone should be proud of him for keeping his composure. 

Enjolras frowned hurt flickering across his face, and… okay. Grantaire wasn't expecting that. "Do you dislike me that much?" He finally asked, mouth twisted down bitterly. "If you do it’s fine, but… I… I wouldn’t have…minded being part of your project…you’re my friend and…” he crossed his arms across his chest, looking uncomfortable.

Grantaire didn't know what to say to that. He turned away to pay attention to the food, it was easier. "You're a busy man, Enjolras. I wouldn't want to bother you."

Enjolras made a frustrated noise, "I'm a little bothered right now that you think I wouldn't want to help."

Grantaire frowned at Enjolras. Impulse. "Next week then. I want to do one of you and..." He thought a moment. He didn’t even have a piece planned out, much less people to put into it. “Cosette, or something. Maybe just you. This project is… technically finished, but I had another idea. Maybe I can try it out on you.” Everything in him was screaming about this being a horrible horrible plan, but he just kept talking. He couldn’t stop himself. It made him want to punch himself in the face.

Enjolras seemed sated with this, however. "I'll have my schedule clear for you." He said, a smile teasing at his lips, and that small pleased smile really made this okay. 

They fell into something comfortable then, Enjolras trying to help and Grantaire teasing him for his lack of talent in the kitchen. He eventually sent Enjolras to set the table so he could actually get something done. 

Enjolras finished quickly and returned the moment he was done, again trying to be helpful. Grantaire stole utensils from him, teasing Enjolras by holding them up out of reach. Enjolras crowded Grantaire against the counter, scowling and trying to get the whisk back from him. They were pressed together and it was fun and Grantaire was elated on the touch.

Enjolras noticed first, freezing a little bit, eyes locking on Grantaire’s face, his eyes, and then his mouth. They moved back up again, searching for permission there. He was breathless from the battle to reclaim the whisk. He hesitantly let his hands settle on Grantaire’s sides. 

Grantaire flushed and as he was about to speak his consent on the matter, the front door flung open and some of the group wandered inside, laughing and chattering loudly. Enjolras quickly pulled away, head ducked. Grantaire busied himself finished the icing that Enjolras had been whisking for the cupcakes. 

Everyone arrived fairly quickly after that and Grantaire made sure all the food was out for them to dish themselves. He dropped into a chair and looked up at the ceiling, his head was spinning. 

The evening was uneventful. A movie, and then everyone left. Grantaire hoped Enjolras would stay, maybe they could start again where they had been interrupted. He didn't though. Grantaire pretended he wasn't disappointed

\---

The week passed by in a blur of Photoshop and trying to make sure the different sketches for his new project were ready to be transferred onto Enjolras’s skin. He’d had much more time to work on the other things so he hoped Enjolras wouldn’t be too upset when the piece was mediocre, a test run at best. Cosette came to talk to him when he spilled about the project and after some pressing Grantaire, emotional and on the edge of frustrated tears, told her that he was pretty sure Enjolras was going to kiss him. Cosette was uncertain but pleased with this development, pressing for details so she could be sure. She didn’t want it to have just been Grantaire’s imagination.

“It was the first time we were alone together.” Grantaire said, near hysterical, “Maybe he just wanted to because he was on edge from being painted. He probably only thought that he wanted to kiss me because he was turned on.”

Enjolras arrived a bit before he needed to and looked somewhat disappointed when Cosette peeked around Grantaire to wave at him. Grantaire had begged her to stay. The process of painting the two of them was much faster than painting fifteen. The idea that Grantaire had come up with was transforming them into people from famous paintings and then putting them into a modern setting. He didn’t even know if it was clever, but he wanted to try it anyways. 

He painted them both, splitting his ideas between the both of them and situating them in front of his windows, his shelves, taking quick pictures, just to see. He was glad to not be painting past their shoulders, a plan of his own design, but he was glad nonetheless. 

It took a while, chattering endlessly and snapping photos, but eventually Grantaire had put all the ideas to skin. Cosette kissed his cheek and apologized, “I’m meeting Marius, gotta run.” She left still covered in paint.

Enjolras, it seemed was on the edge of asking something, so Grantaire lingered near, waiting for the inevitable. Nerves roiling in his stomach. 

“This is a very interesting project.” Enjolras said, finally.

Grantaire stared at him, "Come again?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “You heard me the first time… but uh… thank you for letting me be a part of it. I was thinking about it… about how that conversation happened and I... I know you didn’t want to include me in it or… have me over like this. I pressured you, and I shouldn’t have pressured you. I hadn’t even realized that that’s what I was doing. I just knew that… I was jealous and…” He trailed off, uncomfortable talking in the realm of feelings. “Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry and thank you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, nose wrinkling at the tug of paint. 

Grantaire didn’t even know what to say. He was stuck in a state of shock. “Apollo? Apologizing to me?” he finally said.

It was the wrong thing to say. Enjolras glared at him, straightening up, “Oh, fuck you.” He snapped, “Can’t you take anything I have to say seriously?” He looked at Grantaire with something akin to disgust and slowly shook his head. 

“God, I don’t fucking understand you.” He turned away and grabbed his shirt, pulled it over his head, then tugged on his jacket.

Grantaire was frozen. Of course he had fucked it up. “Apollo, wait-“

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Enjolras shouted, turning to glare at Grantaire again. He stood there for a second looking both furious and ridiculous with the paint cracking on his face. He was breathing  
heavily, trembling. He finally looked away with a frustrated grunt. “Bye, Grantaire” he muttered. 

He was gone before Grantaire could follow, could try and fix the argument. He stood there dumb struck for a moment before pulling out his phone to text Bahorel and Cosette, “I fucked up.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've got tumblr! If you see any typos that I ought to fix or if you just want to talk hit me up! I am up to taking prompts and other fun things like that.  
> [Turquoise-Candy](http://turquoise-candy.tumblr.com/)  
> Enjolras will probably always be trans when I write. I can't see a time that he won't be, but it's always possible, I suppose.  
> I might have screwed up something while writing though? When I originally wrote this that was not the case.


End file.
